


Without You is How I Disappear

by kbs_was_here



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn fully embraces her new Skank attitude, but Rachel's ridiculously persistent about getting her to rejoin New Directions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Affinity

"I think you're playing too many dirty hipster douchebag cards at once."

Quinn rolls her eyes and avoids actually looking at Santana as she slams her U.S. Government book against the back of her locker. "My contact order was all screwed up. They'll be here on Friday." Even though she hasn't worn glasses in public since middle school, it's habitual, the way her hand comes up to readjust the frames on her nose.

"Aw, so we get three days of Four Eyes Fabray. Cute."

"Why are you stalking me?"

"Come back to Cheerios."

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

"Uh, because I hate it? And because I can eat whatever I want. I can smoke. And I don't have to deal with assholes trying to look under that stupid skirt all day."

"One, it's all going right to your ass. Two, I'm calling repeat on the dirty hipster thing. And three, that's totally a pro, not a con. Anyway, you still have a fan club."

"What are you talking about?"

"Berry's been staring at you like she wants to play doctor or post office or some shit."

Quinn casually glances across the hall to see Rachel, definitely looking in their direction. "Whatever. She's just been trying to suck me back into glee club."

"Call it what you want, she wants to put her mouth on you."

"Not everyone at this school is gay."

"You saying you wouldn't be game for it?"

Quinn smirks and doesn't answer. She just watches Rachel pretend to busy herself with a notebook, then she disappears down the hall.

The bell rings and Santana shoves herself off the row of lockers. "Cheerios. Don't be a loser."

"Begging's kind of a hot look on you."

Santana flips her off and then Quinn's left alone.

She has study hall this period so she's not technically ditching anything. There's no one else under the bleachers, for now, which is fine. She drops into her usual spot and pulls her sketchbook out of her bag. There's nothing really on her mind, so she doodles random images and doesn't even bother to look up when she hears the approaching footsteps.

"What do you want?"

"I thought I'd attempt a second appeal."

Quinn peers at Rachel over the tops of her frames. "The answer was no last week, it's the same this week. And it'll be the same next week."

Cautiously, Rachel moves closer. "How can you be so sure? I know you like belonging to the club, Quinn. You have to miss it."

"Right. I miss being a loser and getting slushied and having to look at Schue's vest collection on a regular basis. No, thanks." She returns to her latest drawing, but her focus isn't on the page.

Rachel sits, primly, next to Quinn, on the edge of the concrete block. "I like your glasses."

Quinn actually pauses and looks back up. "Yeah, well, you also think knee socks are an acceptable look on a high school senior."

"I'll have you know I haven't worn such an accessory at all this school year."

One side of Quinn's mouth turns upward and as she redirects her gaze back to the sketchbook, she mumbles, "Yeah, I know."

"Do you ever find yourself imagining situations that seems highly unlikely?"

"All the time. Usually they have to do with you not speaking."

Rachel doesn't reply and Quinn wonders if she's hurt the other girl's feelings, then immediately thinks it's weird that they're now in a place where that's something she doesn't actually want to do. What she sees is Rachel staring at her, bottom lip just slightly tucked between her teeth.

She considers asking what Rachel's imagining, but it's kind of very-fucking-obvious, as Santana might say.

Quinn knows what's going on in Rachel's mind, or at least she thinks she does, because she's had a lot of the same thoughts over the last year, but the timing was never right and she was always so worried about her reputation.

But now?

Who cares?

One hand slips behind Rachel's neck and pulls her so close that Quinn can smell cherry-vanilla lip gloss. And then she can taste it.

It's not a chaste gentle kiss, but it's not a sloppy mack session, either. She's surprised at how quickly Rachel's tongue brushes against hers and there's a small sound that rings out from the back of her throat when she feels fingers lace through her pink hair.

The encounter lasts about twenty seconds, then there's a few inches of distance between them and Quinn's not really sure which one of them pulled back. Rachel's cheeks are flushed and her lips are just slightly parted, which makes them impossible to resist, so Quinn moves back in for another. It's the same as before, but this lasts a little longer.

When they finally break apart, though, Rachel straightens up and closes her eyes. "That was entirely inappropriate of me. I have a boyfriend."

"Not like he didn't have it coming." Quinn hears the words come out of her own mouth and knows they're the wrong thing to say.

But Rachel just kind of rolls her eyes. "Still..."

"Well, have fun with him." Quinn picks up her bag and drops the sketchbook inside, then digs around for her cigarettes.

"Is it weird that I liked this? Just now?"

"Kissing a girl?"

"Kissing you."

"No. Of course you liked it," she says, lighting up an American Spirit.

"Your humility astounds me."

"You liked it because you weren't supposed to do it. It's always good under the bleachers." Quinn stands.

"Smoking is bad for you."

"So's cheating. And smoking never knocked me up."

Rachel straightens her skirt and rises to her feet. "I shouldn't have kissed you."

"You didn't. I kissed you. Both times. And I'm single."

Rachel gazes at her with the same look from across the hall that morning, but she catches herself and shakes it off. "I should go."

Quinn shrugs and takes a drag. To be honest, she kind of wants Rachel to stay, but she can see Sheila in the distance, so it's better if she goes.

"Whatever."

It isn't like it'll happen, again.


	2. Indignity

It's October, nearly a month after that day under the bleachers. Quinn hasn't forgotten it, but she also doesn't actively think about it. All that really means that is when she catches herself reflecting on certain details of Rachel's lips, she quickly force herself to think about guitar chords.

Because guitar chords are a thing, now.

She's only been at it for a few weeks and she's sure if she mentions it to Santana, she'll be accused of wanting to play hippie lesbian acoustic folk. That's not at all the case.

Quinn spends her free time in the garage with a vintage Crate amp and Fender Stratocaster, both of which she found up in the attic. She'd been looking for some boxes that had been packed up by her mom around the time of the pregnancy (otherwise known as the time her parents threw her out on her ass) and found the guitar and amp combo.

Judy insisted they were Russell's, but Quinn had no active recollection of her dad ever playing anything musical, other than Heart and Soul on the piano. And the last time she'd heard that had been before they moved to Lima.

She originally hauled them out of the attic and down into the garage with the intent to sell them. Both pieces were in good condition and a quick Google search suggested they were worth a good chunk of change. But since she wasn't in glee club, she felt like she was missing out on a musical outlet. Plus, this was something new, something that would distract her from the bullshit. She already knew music theory from piano lessons. And, frankly, if Puck could play, she was confident she could, too.

So, her weekends and afternoons are currently spent in the garage, playing until her fingers hurt too much to carry on, but her sessions are progressively getting longer and longer. Sometimes the Skanks drop by, but usually they have plans to commit petty crime and while Quinn's totally down with rebelling against the system, she doesn't really want to get arrested. As much as she wants to get out of Lima, prison doesn't seem like an ideal exit strategy.

Until today, she's only ever played at home, but the sub in her trigonometry class equals a prime opportunity to cut, only it's raining out and she finds herself in the empty choir room. It's actually a good spot, because if any teachers see her, they'll just assume she's still in glee club. She knows Rachel won't be coming by, because she has Government this period and there's a test today.

She doesn't know Rachel's schedule on purpose, she just knows they're not in that class together and it's a required senior course. Whatever. It's all too much thinking, so she picks up one of the guitars and turns on an amp, low, but still loud enough to hear. There's a chord progression sheet, likely left behind by someone from the jazz band, sitting on one of the chairs, so she looks it over and starts to play.

Her fingers are still a little clumsy on the chord changes, but she feels pretty damn accomplished after only a few weeks of practice. Anyway, there's no one here to listen.

"Sounds like someone's got the blues."

Or, there wasn't until a second ago.

She stops strumming and looks up to see Artie. "What do you want?"

"I'm here to practice. Because I actually have a reason to be in here."

He has a point. "Whatever. I was just leaving, anyway." She sets the guitar back on the stand.

"I didn't know you played."

She shrugs. "People learn new skills every day."

"If you ever want to jam or something, you could come by my place. Puck sometimes does, too."

"Kind of a one woman show, right now." She picks up her bag and slips the strap over her shoulder. After a moment, she grabs the page she was studying and shoves it in the bag.

"You don't have to be."

"Look, Artie, I'm not really into the whole group thing, okay? It was fun, but I'm over it."

"I just don't understand why you'd walk away from your friends. That's not cool."

"My friends?" Quinn's halfway to the door, but she spins around. "Oh, you mean all the people who called me this summer to hang out? Or even the ones who bothered to know what the hell I was even doing? Because I can only think of two people who did that and one of them isn't even allowed in this club, anymore." Artie kind of looks like a kicked puppy and she feels a little crappy for putting all of her anger on him, in the moment. "Anyway, I don't fit in here. I never really did."

"I kind of always thought the fact that none of us really fit anywhere else was what made us special." He just kind of shrugs and wheels away from her, toward the guitars.

"Is that why you stopped letting people in?" It's no secret that Sugar Motta didn't get accepted, especially since the girl had to qualms about announcing it to the rest of the student body.

"She can't sing," Artie calls over his shoulder.

Quinn crosses her arm. "Neither can Mike."

"But he can dance."

"You can't dance." It's a low blow, but it's also the truth.

Artie doesn't seem fazed by it. "But I can sing."

"Lucky you, then. You'll probably totally win another national championship. Oh, wait..."

"That's enough, Quinn," booms a voice from behind her.

Before she even turns to see who it is, she knows she's about to be treated to this season's latest in vest fashions. "I was just leaving."

"You know you're welcome to come back to New Directions, but until then, you need to respect that this room is only for students involved in certain clubs and classes."

"Noted," she says as she brushes past him, wondering how she ever even once entertained the thought that he was mildly attractive. Thought, that had been while she was pregnant, so she immediately chalks it up to hormones and resolves never to think about it, again.

Of course, by that logic, she shouldn't still be entertaining certain thoughts about Rachel, either.

The same Rachel who runs smack into her as she rounds the corner of the otherwise empty hallway. It doesn't hurt, but the way Quinn twists her body at the last second to try and avoid impact sends her glasses flying off her face and skittering across the floor. Even though her contact order arrived weeks ago, she's still been wearing them. She's not really sure why.

"Oh my god!" Rachel's a little stunned, but she's the first to scamper after the frames and gets to them before Quinn even really has a chance to guess which direction they flew.

"The hell, Rachel... someone could get hurt."

"You're still dressing like you live for danger, so I doubt you're really chastising me for running in the halls." Rachel hands her the glasses.

Quinn carefully inspects them and finds everything to still be intact, so she slips them back on her face. "I just didn't think you were one to ditch. Especially on a test day."

"Finished early and asked to be dismissed to rehearse my latest glee assignment."

"With Artie?"

"Yes. Wait, how did you know?"

"Ran into him."

"He misses you. We all do."

Quinn scoffs. "Not really. You're the only one leaving me any notes."

At least once a week since the beginning of the year, Quinn has found different messages from Rachel in her locker. The latest had been in the form of a hand written invitation, the event being Nationals. It's over the top and ridiculous, but Quinn still hasn't been able to bring herself to throw it away.

"You intimidate them."

"You're the only one I ever actively threatened and you seem to be just fine."

"We're past that."

Quinn knows it's true, but she can't formulate any kind of follow up, so she just says, "Whatever."

"It still stands. The invitation, I mean."

"And what if no one else wants me back?" This is her biggest fear, the one that haunts her. It's one thing for her to opt out, it's another for her to not be accepted.

"They will."

"But what if they don't?"

"Quinn, you can hang back in the shadows as much as you want, but you're one of us. I don't know what you're so scared of, but is all this really worth it?"

She's not sure if this is Rachel letting on that she's seen Quinn creeping on their rehearsals. She offers a weak shrug. "I just want to be left alone." She doesn't want that, actually. But she can't admit anything else.

The bell rings and students begin to pour around them. Quinn expects that Rachel will choose this moment to make her exit, and she does, but not before grabbing Quinn's wrist and giving it a light squeeze. After that, she's gone.

But she invades Quinn's thoughts for the rest of the day.


	3. Privity

The break up happens at Kurt and Blaine's Halloween party. It's still a week before the actual holiday and costumes are encouraged but not enforced. Quinn doesn't care about any of that, she's just present because she didn't have anything else to do and her mom's hosting some kind of book club at home and this is apparently better.

Right now, she's out on the back porch, smoking her last cigarette and draining the flask she filled up before she left the house. She hears the door open and heavy booted footsteps sound behind her until Puck drops down to join her on the steps.

"'Sup, badass?" He unscrews the cap to his own flask, one that features the silhouette of a naked woman, not unlike the ones that often appear on mudflaps.

"Bunch of bullshit."

"Word." They tap their flasks together. Puck slaps a Marlboro out of the soft pack he's just removed from his shirt pocket, then feels around in his pockets for his lighter. Before he can find it, Quinn flips open her Zippo and offers him the flame.

She snubs out the butt of her cigarette on the step then flicks it into the grass. She picks up the empty pack and is about to wad it up, but Puck stops her. "What?"

He silently takes the package from her, shakes out a few cigarettes from his own pack, and slips them in the empty one. They're not the same brand, but the gesture is sweet. For Puck.

They've never really been friends, but they've always worked best like this, with few words. She likes to think she understands the way he works, that he'd probably go on some Bonnie and Clyde crime spree with her, if she made it sound lucrative enough. She's pretty sure he's hooked up with Mack, but that's not really any outstanding accomplishment on either side. He's a dumbass, but he's carrying around a big heart under that stupid haircut. That much, she knows.

Their silent camaraderie is interrupted when Brittany pops her head out the back door and asks, "Can one of you pick the lock to the bathroom? Rachel's locked inside and won't come out."

Quinn's on her feet first, but Puck's right behind her. "What happened?" she asks Brittany.

"I don't know, she's just been in there a long time. Ever since Finn slammed the door when he left a while ago."

"Wait, that was Finn? I thought I was just really rocking that one girl's world," Puck says.

Brittany perks up, "That reminds me, Coach says if you knock up any more Cheerios, she's taking a blowtorch to your junk."

"Dude, I can't even do that! My swimmers are totally cut off."

Brittany shakes her head. "That's not true. I can see them when you go commando in those cargo shorts and put your feet up."

"Those are my n-"

"Can you two shut up? It's hard to concentrate." Quinn's kneeling in front of the bathroom door as she works a bobby pin in the lock.

There's a click and, just like that, the knob turns. Puck makes a move as if he's about to enter the bathroom, but Quinn blocks his path.

"She's my Jew," he says. "We have a thing."

Quinn considers this. He probably has more reason to check on Rachel than she does, because they're actually friends. "Fine. But I'm coming in there in two minutes and if I see your thing, I'm calling dibs on the blowtorch."

"What's with you and fire, anyway?" He doesn't wait for an answer from her, though. Instead, he slips into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Quinn notes the time and begins the countdown, but it's not even necessary because he immediately steps back out into the hall. "She wants to talk to you."

It's a surprise, but Quinn doesn't question it. Maybe it's the fact that Rachel's been so persistent about getting Quinn back in glee club or maybe it's the rum she pilfered from her mom's liquor cabinet. Either way, she casually slips into the bathroom, pushes the door shut, and presses the lock.

The room's bathed in dim orange light, because the regular bulbs have been switched for more festive ones. Rachel sits on the floor, back against the bathtub, arms wrapped around her knees.

Quinn's not really sure what to say (okay, "Finn's a dick" comes to mind, but she figures she wants to know what happened, first), so she leans against the sink and waits for the other girl to say something. Only Rachel doesn't speak. Instead, she inches to her right, leaving more space on the bathmat next to her. Quinn might be a little drunk, but she's coherent enough to pick a lock and definitely able to read the signs that tell her to just sit the fuck down and let Rachel spill about whatever's making her hide out in here.

So, she sits. Almost immediately, Rachel leans against her and Quinn's arm has nowhere to go but around her.

"I broke up with him."

The words are so low and buried in a murmur, Qunn's not sure she's heard correctly. "What?"

"I broke up with him." It's clearer, this time, because Rachel lifts her head so she's looking at Quinn.

"At a party?"

"I didn't plan to. It just... happened."

Quinn's well aware of how easily things can just happen, of how things can no longer be contained, of how they just surface. "Better than a funeral, I guess."

Rachel manages a small, sad laugh. "I just want to go home."

"Are you drunk?"

"No. I didn't drink anything."

"So, go home."

"He drove."

"Oh." An idea pops into Quinn's head and her mouth makes the suggestion before her brain has a chance to stop it. "What about my car?"

"Quinn, you're kind of drunk."

"Only a little. And you can drive. I'll just sleep it off in the car."

"You'd do that?"

"This party sucks, anyway."

Rachel nods and leans into her, again. There's a long moment where Quinn thinks about kissing her, but knows it's bad timing, because Rachel just broke up with Finn. But then, if it happened that way, if she did the breaking up, then maybe it was okay. Wasn't it?

The scent of Rachel's shampoo and hair product isn't helping anything. Neither is the fact that the other girl's head is tucked right under hers and if Quinn were to tilt her head down, just a little, she'd be kissing the top of it.

Someone pounds on the bathroom door. "Hey! Either get off or get out! Save the romance for somewhere else. Some of us needs to use the facilities." Santana. Great.

Rachel straightens up and takes a moment to collect herself. Quinn stands and casually offers her hand, not that Rachel needs help up. She's not seventy.

That doesn't keep Quinn from smiling a little to herself when Rachel does take it.

Though, the smirk she gets from Santana when they exit the bathroom kind of kills the buzz.


	4. Adaptivity

Even though Rachel's totally sober, the second she gets behind the wheel of Quinn's car, she realizes she can't drive it.

"This is a stick."

Quinn nods as she tugs at her own seatbelt. "Yep."

"I've only driven an automatic. I've intended to learn how to operate a manual transmission, because I can list it as a special skill on a performance resume, but my dads haven't had time to teach me."

"Shit." The thing is, Quinn's not that drunk. She's not stupid enough to get behind the wheel, but she figures she can help from the passenger seat. "Okay, um... It's not that hard." There's a bottle of water in the cup holder and she takes a swig as she thinks everything over. "It's kind of like music. When it hits a certain pitch, you have to shift gears. But you have to push in the clutch before you shift. It's that one, over there." She points down toward the pedal and her hand lands on Rachel's knee for a split second before she pulls it back.

Rachel moves the seat further up and adjusts the mirrors. "Okay. Pitch. Then clutch."

"Then shift. And you have to start the car, first." Quinn watches Rachel reach for the ignition. "But make sure the clutch is in! And one foot should be on the brake! And put it in neutral."

She puts her hand over the one that's dropped to the gearshift and makes sure the car isn't in gear. "Like this."

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I still have to start the car."

"Okay." The feeling of the hand moving under hers makes Quinn realize she needs to let go. "Oh."

"Now what?" Rachel asks, once the car's started.

"The clutch is in?"

"I think so."

"Don't break my car."

"Then please correctly instruct me on what to do."

"Put it in first gear." Again, Quinn rests her hand on top of Rachel's and pushes the gearshift. "Over here. And ease out the clutch and give it, like, a little gas."

"Like thi-" The car lurches forward and stalls out. "Oh my god, Quinn, did I break it?"

Quinn can't help but giggle at Rachel's reaction. "No. You just stalled." Again, she has to let go so the other girl can turn the key, but as soon as Rachel's hand returns to its initial position, she covers it with hers.

This time, Rachel manages to successfully get the car moving and pulls away from the curb. Shifting into second happens more easily and they make it two blocks before the car stalls at a stop sign.

"Sorry."

Quinn shrugs. "It happens."

The perpetual driving instruction keeps their conversation limited to pedal pushing and laughter when Rachel stalls out, yet again. As much as Quinn's dying to know what it means that Finn's back to being their mutual ex, she's content being occupied by the moment and feels a little vindicated that she's the one teaching Rachel how to do this, not him.

Twenty minutes later, what would normally be a ten minute drive comes to an end when Rachel stops short in front of her own house.

"I did it!" Rachel exclaims, glancing at Quinn with a smile that suggests she's genuinely proud of herself for what she's just done.

"Yeah. You did." Quinn actually kind of really proud of Rachel, too. "Let's hope my transmission survived."

Rachel pulls Quinn's hand off the shifter but doesn't let go of it. "Thanks."

"You had to get home, somehow."

"You weren't obligated to give me a driving lesson."

"If it makes you feel better, I can charge you twenty bucks."

Rachel thumb slides back and forth over the side of Quinn's hand. "You can ask me, if you want to know."

"Can I have twenty bucks?" But Quinn knows she's talking about the break up. She wants to ask if it's because of her, but she's afraid of the answer, either way. "You broke up with him. Non of it's really my business. Unless you want to talk about it."

"Ever since New York, it hasn't felt the same. I mean, it's good... or, it was. But it felt like it would only ever just be that. Never great, never spectacular."

"And you need those. The bigger things." Quinn's not even asking. She's sure she knows. It's why she argued with Rachel about Finn that day in the auditorium.

Rachel nods. "I can't just settle."

"You shouldn't."

"I won't. Kurt and I have a plan to get out of here." Rachel's sideways in her seat and she leans forward toward the middle of the car. "I know you have one, too. You have for a long time. And this... this delinquency thing isn't part of it. You don't deserve to be stuck here, Quinn. You deserve great and spectacular, too."

Quinn knows she wants those things, but she doesn't know if she believes what Rachel's telling her. "Do I, though?"

The response she receives comes in the form of lips on hers, reminiscent of several weeks ago. Except they're not under the bleachers and Rachel's the one making the move. Quinn whimpers slightly as the kiss deepens, because this is all unexpected but totally welcomed, especially in her slightly inebriated state.

"Yes, you do," Rachel finally says. By then, they've been kissing just long enough that Quinn has to think twice about the question she's answering.

Quinn lets her head fall forward a little until it rests on Rachel's shoulder. "You should go in. And I should get some sleep so I can drive home."

"I'm not letting you sleep in front of my house."

"I thought we were cool about that." Quinn figures maybe she can just carefully drive around the corner and sleep there. Mostly, she's bummed that Rachel's having second thoughts. Though, maybe she doesn't want her dads to see some drunk girl passed out in her own car.

"I mean, I'm not letting you sleep in your car. We have a guest room."

Oh. "Oh." Quinn tries to think of a reason to protest, but she's tired and she's been kissing Rachel, who is no longer Finn's girlfriend. "Cool."

Rachel eases Quinn up off her shoulder. "Tomorrow you can take me for another lesson."

Quinn rubs at her eyes. There's something about tonight's turn of events that she's going to regret in the morning, she's sure of it.


	5. Duplicity

Rachel insists her dads are sound asleep. "Anyway, they won't care that you're here."

Quinn doubts that, but not just because she's Rachel's midnight house guest. She can't imagine she has a stellar reputation with the Berry parents, especially if they've heard anything about her current company (though she's been spending less time with the Skanks and more time with her guitar). "Whatever, I'd just rather not get my head taken off with a baseball bat because they think I'm here to steal the silver or something," she whispers as Rachel leads her up the stairs.

"Maybe you should remove the beanie," Rachel suggests, her voice equally as low. She walks into what Quinn assumes is the guest bedroom and shuts the door behind them. The switch she flips turns on a small lamp next to the bed. "You're welcome to stay for breakfast, but I'll understand if you don't." She vaguely gestures to her right. "You have your own shower just down the hall. My dads and I both have our own bathrooms. Their room is downstairs, so if you plan to sneak out, you'll have to either wake up before seven or be very covert."

"Where's your room?"

"Across the hall."

Quinn's not even sure why it matters. The plan is to crash out for a while, then bail before the sun's up. "I don't suppose I can smoke in here."

Rachel shakes her head. "Daddy might think the house is on fire and make us all evacuate according to the family plan."

"Don't want that."

"You really don't. He's grumpy if you wake him up too soon."

The longer Quinn stands here, the more she realizes she's sobering up and she probably doesn't even need to go to sleep if she just stays up for a while. She can always still just wait in her car. But they're already upstairs and the bed definitely looks more comfortable than any of the seats in her car. Plus, it's warmer in here.

She realizes neither of them are saying anything.

"I guess, goodnight, then," she offers.

"Yeah." Rachel sighs and takes half a step backward, toward the door.

And then Quinn can't really take it, anymore. Rachel's back makes a soft thud as it makes contact with the door. One or both of them laugh softly through the kiss.

"Sorry. That's not going to wake your dads, is it?"

Rachel shakes her head and answers with another kiss. Her hands tightly grip the lapels of Quinn's denim jacket then pull the garment down past her shoulders. Quinn has to let go of her hold on Rachel's side to shrug the coat off, but as soon as it hits the floor, they're back in position.

The beanie is the next thing to go. It's fine, because Quinn was getting kind of warm, anyway.

Rachel's arms settle on Quinn's shoulders and it seems they're both just content to stand there, against the door, mouths together, some tongue, some teeth, but it's not a rigorous game of tonsil hockey. Finn always kissed like he was trying to find something, Puck was better at it, and Sam was always sweet about it. But Rachel kisses like she's trying to goddamn get it right. And she is, she really, really is.

Quinn's lips set out a new path, along Rachel's jaw, down toward her neck. The sound of the other girl's breathing makes her smile to herself, but then the sound of footsteps in the hall outside bring her to a complete halt. She pulls back to look at Rachel who's not biting her lip and scrunching up her nose.

There's a gentle push against her shoulders as Rachel eases her back and Quinn quickly gets the picture. She snatches up her jacket and hat and tosses them on the bed as Rachel takes a second to compose herself before opening the door.

Quinn doesn't even get a chance to see anything, because the door shuts and all she hears are muffled voices from the hall. She eyes the window and wonders if it's worth it to try and scale down the side of the house, but then the door opens and she's faced with Rachel and a man in glasses.

She really, really hopes this one isn't Daddy.

"Quinn, this is my dad. Dad, this is Quinn. She let me drive her car home from the party."

"Quinn," says Rachel's dad as he politely nods at her, then introduces himself. "Hiram Berry."

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"I appreciate you making sure Rachel got home okay," he says, eyeing her hair color in the dim light of the room. If he has any particular judgement about it, he doesn't express it. "And now that I know she's back, I can go to bed." He kisses the side of Rachel's head. "You're welcome to stay for breakfast in the morning, if you'd like."

"Thank you." Whether or not Quinn stays that long isn't something she's about to discuss, right now.

Rachel seems a little pleased with herself as she says goodnight to Hiram. Once he's headed back down the stairs, she pushes the door shut, again. "I guess he was waiting up."

"Does he know we were, um..."

"I don't think so."

It dawns on Quinn that, as far as Rachel's dads know, their daughter is still dating Finn. Because they just broke up. Tonight. "I should probably go to bed."

"Right. I'll get you something to sleep in." Rachel's already out the door before Quinn can say anything else.

Quinn takes the opportunity to sit on the edge of the bed and unlace her boots. By the time she's done, Rachel's back. She hands Quinn a black tank top and pair of pajama pants with dancing cupcakes on them.

"Thanks but I'll probably just sleep in my-" she realizes that's probably too much information.

Maybe it is, because Rachel seems to blush a little, which is kind of presumptuous, because Quinn could have totally been about to say she would sleep in her clothes. But that's not at all the case.

"Might get cold," is Rachel's eventual response.

"What do you wear?" Quinn suddenly asks, not really sure why, but she kind of definitely wants to know.

"To bed?"

"No, to the prom." The last word rolls off her tongue with a bitterness she didn't even intend, but it's as if it's just part of the pronunciation to her, at this point.

"The same. I mean, the same that I brought you not the same as what you were saying... unless it's summer." Rachel seems a little flustered and Quinn takes pride in the fact that she's responsible for it.

"Unless it's summer, what?"

Rachel doesn't bite. "Goodnight, Quinn."

Quinn watches her leave the room and wonders if it's worth it to sneak across the hall at any point during her stay. Except she still isn't sure what they're even doing. And she definitely doesn't want to wake up Daddy Berry.

Instead, she changes out of her clothes and into the tank top. The cupcake pants stay folded neatly at the end of the bed. After staring at them for a moment, Quinn snaps a picture of them with her phone and sends it to Rachel with no further explanation.

Two minutes later, she receives a simple text that says: /It is a fairly warm night./

Quinn response is: /Stop sexting me, I'm trying to sleep./

/You wish. Goodnight./

The weird things is, she kind of really does.

/Night, Rach./


	6. Voracity

Despite the way her heart is all but racing after Rachel leaves her room, once she settles under the covers, Quinn sleeps more easily than she imagined she would.

When she wakes, however, she gasps and nearly cocks a fist until she realizes the figure standing over her is Rachel and not some kind of velociraptor or serial killer (even with the easy sleep, there had been a weird round of dreams).

"What the hell are you doing?" Quinn jerks upright and rubs at her eyes. "How long have you been standing there?"

Now that Rachel realizes Quinn isn't going to punch her in the face, she resorts to a look of mild amusement. "I swear I just walked in to wake you up. I sent you a text ten minutes ago. You must have slept through it."

Quinn picks up her phone. Sure enough, there's a missed message. Also, her battery's in the red. "What kind of phone do you have?"

"Same as yours. Need a charger?"

Quinn has one out in her car, but convenience would be... convenient. "Yeah, if it's not a big deal."

"Not really." Rachel takes the phone from Quinn's hand and immediately plugs it into the dock on top of the clock radio.

"You could have just said it was right there."

Rachel just pats the top of Quinn's head and says, "Breakfast is in a half hour, so if you'd like a shower, I'd suggest taking it now."

Quinn pulls Rachel's hand away from her head and holds on to it longer than necessary until she lets go so she can get out of bed. It's not until she flings back the covers that she remembers she's only wearing a tank top and underwear. As Rachel tries not to stare, Quinn says, "Whatever. Cheerios are totally naked in front of each other all the time." She grabs the cupcake pants and quickly pulls them on, however, because if she thinks too hard about anyone being naked, she's pretty sure she'll just embarrass herself.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Actually, yeah."

"Good." There's a momentary lull that's just long enough for Quinn to notice that Rachel's still in her pajamas, but her hair is brushed and neatly pulled back into a loose ponytail. She wonders if Rachel is always this awake and functional so soon after waking up. "Guest towels are in the cabinet under the sink."

Quinn takes that as a cue to hurry up and take her damn shower, so she mumbles a thank you to the other girl and heads for the bathroom. She wonders if one or both of the Berry dads travel a lot, because there are unopened hotel toiletries sitting in a small basket on the counter. At first, she's not sure if she should use them, but there doesn't seem to be any shampoo or soap already in the shower, so she grabs what she needs and places them on the small ledge next to the window. The water warms up fairly quickly, so she sheds her loaned pajamas and steps inside.

It's a joke that the Skanks avoid soap, but she's not total trash and she still bathes on a daily basis. She's actually quite fond of showers, because it's one of the few moments of the day when she can actually be by herself and not have to deal with other people trying to get her to do something else. She's allowed, even expected, to be alone in the shower. But if she wants to spend some time in her room or the garage or under the bleachers without people asking her questions or texting benign bullshit to her all the time, then she's depressed and her mother or Miss Pillsbury want her to talk about her feelings. It's funny, though, with all the requests for talking, no one really listens.

Except Rachel.

Which is totally weird.

Once the soap and shampoo are washed away, she shuts off the water and reaches for the towel she unearthed from beneath the sink. It's not until she rubs her hair dry that she remembers the dye tends to bleed a little and, sure enough, there's now a pink stain in the middle of the pale yellow towel.

"Crap."

She folds the towel so the stained section is hidden away on the inside, then hangs it on the towel bar. Hopefully, they'll never notice until after it runs through the laundry and then maybe they'll assume it was washed with a red sock or Rachel's cherry-vanilla chapstick or something.

The corner of her mouth turns up as she recalls the flavor of that very same lip balm. She was pretty sure she'd tasted it last night, too. And, okay, what was this whole kissing Rachel thing, anyway?

There's a toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste included in the basket, so she lets herself consider just what all that means for the exact amount of time it takes to brush her teeth. When she passes back through the hall, she peeks into Rachel's bedroom, but the girl isn't there. She can hear laughter and conversation coming from downstairs, so she figures that's where she's supposed to head next.

In the kitchen, Rachel sits on at tall chair at the island in the center of the room. Hiram stands on the other side, his eyes fixed on his iPad and an African American man, the one Quinn assumes must be Daddy, stands at the stove as he tends to what looks like scrambled eggs. She hopes he got plenty of sleep.

Hiram's the first to notice Quinn, but Rachel picks up on the fact that he's looking at someone in the doorway and she quickly spins her chair around. "Daddy, here she is. Quinn, this is my Daddy."

"Good morning, Quinn," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm Leroy. And I hope you like your eggs scrambled. Rachel said you weren't part of her vegan cult."

"Scrambled is fine, thanks." Her choices are to either stand awkwardly or sit down next to Rachel, so she opts for the seat. As she sits, her foot bumps against Rachel's and she's met with a light kick in return. Quinn nudges back which results in the same from the other girl.

"Rachel, why don't you stop playing footsie long enough to offer your guest something to drink?" Hiram says without even looking up from his iPad.

Quinn's sure her face matches her hair and even Rachel's cheeks are tinged a bit redder than usual.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah."

Rachel slides off her chair and slips a mug under the single cup brewer that sits on the opposing counter. "What kind?"

"I don't know, the coffee kind?"

"We have Columbian organic, Donut Shop, Hazelnut..." Rachel rummages through the box she's holding. "Tiger Brew, Jet Fuel, French Vanilla..."

Quinn doesn't care, she just needs coffee if she's going to make it through her morning. "Just... the vanilla one is fine."

While the coffee brews, Leroy dishes out the eggs onto the plates that sit on the island. There's also a plate of what looks like vegetarian bacon and a bowl of fruit. "Help yourself, Quinn. And you," he says, bumping against Hiram, "put that damn thing away and have breakfast with us."

Hiram sets the iPad on the counter behind him and picks through the coffee box. "So, Quinn, Rachel was telling us she's trying to lure you back to glee club."

Quinn has a decent sized chunk of melon in her mouth, so all she can do is shrug, then nod.

"Dad, I'm sure she doesn't want to talk about it."

"It's okay," Quinn says, after swallowing. "I, uh... had to re-prioritize this year. I had a lot of extra curriculars all my other years and..." It's all crap and it sounds that way as she says it out loud. "I just needed a change of pace." There. That's actually true.

"Mostly, I'm concerned about you not having a productive creative outlet." Rachel hands Quinn her coffee. "Music can be very beneficial when you're dealing with... stress." A glance between them suggests that she doesn't want to spill all of Quinn's personal business, but she's already opened her mouth and apparently needs to keep talking. "I mean, the way we're all coping with the stress of college and graduation."

That's actually a decent save. Quinn rewards her with another light kick. "Glee club isn't the only musical outlet in the world."

"Well, I don't see you rushing to join jazz band, either."

"I could if I wanted."

Rachel eyes her. "Would you?"

Quinn feels like she's said too much, because she's not really ready to discuss her latest hobby over breakfast. And, anyway, "I'm probably not good enough, yet."

"Yet? Are you taking lessons?" This topic has Rachel's complete and undivided attention.

"No."

"What is it, piano? I know you play a little."

"No." Maybe if she shoves enough veggie bacon in her mouth, Rachel will stop expecting her to answer.

Wrong. "Okay, but you don't play drums. Or guitar..." Quinn can't help the damn smirk that creeps on her lips and Rachel immediately sees it. "You play guitar?"

"I..." Quinn sighs and drops the bacon she's holding. "I found one in our attic and I've been teaching myself." There's a look in Rachel's eyes and Quinn can't quite figure it out. She feels like she's being studied. "Leave me alone. Eat your..." her gaze drops to Rachel's plate, which is full of fruit and fake bacon, "Bacon fruit plate thing."

Surprisingly, Rachel stops the interrogation and the conversation shifts to the Berry family's plans to visit the farmer's market. As much as she wants to be annoyed at Rachel prying into her personal business, she's actually happy that this whole guitar thing interests her so much.

Maybe she'll invite Rachel over to watch her play, sometime.

Maybe that'll happen a lot sooner than she thinks.


	7. Pliability

They're in Quinn's garage by early afternoon.

All it really takes is Rachel asking if Quinn has any plans and Quinn pretending like she does but then giving in, because if Rachel comes over, then maybe they can make out, again.

Also, Rachel wants to drive Quinn's car to get more practice. They live seven blocks away from each other, but it still takes ten full minutes to get from one house to the next.

"Mom?" Quinn shouts into the house as they walk through the door. No response. "She must have left for her book club, already." Rachel follows her upstairs to her bedroom without any invitation. Not that she needs it, at this point. All Quinn can think about is kissing her. But when they get to her room, Rachel lingers in the hall and looks over the framed photos that line the wall.

"How come you never talk about your sister?"

"Because she's boring." Quinn rummages through her closet until she finds a black knit skirt that hits her a few inches above the knee and a sleeveless Joan Jett t-shirt. She dumps the party clothes in her hamper, then quickly pulls off the pajamas she's been wearing since last night. It figures that Rachel would walk in right as she's pulling on the panties she's just grabbed from her drawer.

"Sorry." Rachel quickly averts her gaze to everywhere else but Quinn.

"Whatever." But it's definitely more than a little embarrassing.

"So, um, where's your guitar?"

"Downstairs. In the garage. And I'm... dressed now."

Rachel steals a glance at Quinn, as if to be sure, then asks, "May I see it?"

"What, like, you want me to prove it exists?" She's already slipping on a pair of black flip flops to go down there, anyway. But she can't resist giving Rachel crap.

"I never said I didn't believe you, Quinn. I'm just curious."

Quinn rolls her eyes and grabs the girl's hand. The sooner she shows her, the sooner Rachel will be satisfied and then maybe they can get back to the kissing thing. Or maybe they should talk about it. But that just seems like it'll make it weird.

Or maybe not, given the way Rachel lets her fingers easily slide between her own, so now they're actually holding hands. Like, the coupley way, not the way you hold someone's hand when you're crossing the street.

"See?" Quinn flips the switch that turns on the track lighting that formerly lit up her dad's workbench. Now the lights shine down on the old living room sofa that her mom replaced after the divorce. Next to the couch is the Crate and the Fender. There are several pages of random chords and progressions stacked on top of the amp.

"So you really are some kind of badass rockstar,' Rachel says before primly sitting on the edge of the sofa. She picks up one of the pages.

"If I were, I wouldn't have brought you in here to talk about this," Quinn pulls the paper out of Rachel's hand and lets it fall to the floor.

"Are you suggesting that you don't plan to play anything for me?"

"I can if you really want me to, but..." Quinn can't stop looking at Rachel's lips.

"Quinn..."

"Huh?" Rachel's hand is on her knee. When did it get there?

"Play me something."

Quinn can't believe she's serious, but whatever. "Yeah, okay. Hand me the, um..."

"Guitar?"

"Yeah. And push the power button on the amp. Everything else is set." And then Rachel's warm hand is replaced with the cool Fender resting on her leg. She hasn't really played for anyone before, so it's a little nerve-wracking. Also, the fact that she really just wants to pin the other girl against the arm of the couch with her body while they do things that generally perpetuate mono. But then, mono reminds her of Finn and that's not something she wants to think about, right now. Though, it helps, because now she's able to focus on playing something. "I'm still a little rough, so..."

Rachel turns and leans back against that damn sofa arm, all by herself. "Please, Quinn. I'm a professional."

"Shut up." She stares down at the strings as she plays and occasionally looks over at her other hand to make sure she's on the right frets. It's just a simple blues riff, but she's been working a hard on it and it seems to sound better than ever.

Quinn plays for a minute, maybe two, and then Rachel's leaning forward and putting a hand on the guitar. "You have to stop."

"What? Why?"

Because, apparently, it's now time for more of that kissing thing they were doing last night. "Sorry, it's just..." Rachel threads her fingers through Quinn's hair. "That's... really... hot."

"The guitar?" Quinn mumbles. The mentioned instrument is between them and she needs to move it, but she's not sure how.

"Mmm hmm."

"Hold on, hold on," she gives in to another short wave of kisses before she pulls back. "Hold on."

"Was that not-"

"It's fine, just..." Quinn slips the guitar out from between them and returns it to the stand. "Okay."

It's Rachel who ends up pinning Quinn against the couch, making this the first time they've ever done this horizontally. And now she wonders why they haven't always done it this way. The other girl is so warm and soft above her, not dense and heavy like the guys she's dated. Not that she and Rachel are dating. They're barely friends. Friends who make out.

Quinn's head falls back a little as the kisses move from her mouth to her neck. She doesn't even feel the need to give a warning about hickies because she doesn't even care. Rachel shifts her weight and one leg moves between Quinn and the couch, the other between Quinn's thighs.

"Is that okay?" Rachel asks, lifting her mouth from Quinn's skin just long enought o get the words out. "I don't want to fall off."

"Totally fine." Like, really. Quinn's skirt was already kind of hiked up from when she was playing the guitar, and it's definitely inched upward since then. So, when she rocks her hips in response to whatever that thing is Rachel's doing to that spot just under her ear, she makes contact with the other girl's thigh. "Oh... kay..."

Rachel freezes. "Should we st-"

"No. I mean," Quinn doesn't have the focus or the breath to speak in full sentences. "Unless you..."

"I'm fine."

"What if I..." Quinn bends her right leg so her thigh is in a very similar proximity to Rachel's underwear. It's... convenient that they're both in skirts, right now.

"That's... okay."

The smirk is involuntary. "Just okay?" Quinn's hands drift to Rachel's hips. She rocks upward as she urges the other girl down.

"Oh my god."

"Yeah."

Rachel grips the arm of the couch with one hand and braces herself against the seat cushion with the other. Quinn can tell she's already, like, so wet and it's not difficult to figure out that Rachel is, too. The kissing resumes, but it's sloppy and distracted, punctuated with groans and whimpers.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Rachel asks, between pants of air.

"No, you're fine. Are you... all right?"

"Uh huh." The response is accompanied by a slack-jawed nod. "Quinn..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm... close..."

Quinn's reply is a moan that sounds maybe like, "Me, too," but she isn't even sure if she says the actual words. Hearing Rachel say that, knowing she's responsible for it, is doing things to her. "God, Rachel..." She wants to be courteous enough to make sure she's not leaving her partner behind, but there's no fucking way she can stop what's happening when her body goes taught against the one above her and then releases. "Holy..."

Rachel's still moving against her thigh, but it's only a matter of seconds before she lets out a muffled cry against Quinn's shoulder, then collapses onto her. Quinn can tell part of her leg is warm and damp and she's positive Rachel's in a very similar situation. Right now, though, she doesn't want to move.

An arm tightens around her and warm breath moves against her neck. "Thanks for showing me your guitar."

Quinn chuckles. "Anytime."

Even with the prospect of any innuendo, she means it every way possible.


	8. Verity

The afterglow is interrupted by the garage door rolling upward.

"Shit." Quinn doesn't have to push Rachel off of her, the other girl's on her own feet already. Their hands are tangled together and Quinn drags Rachel into the house before the door's even three feet off the ground. There's no way Judy saw them. Of course, they could have just straightened up on the sofa and easily been hanging out in the garage, but the momentary panic combined with the fact that they'd just gotten off in an intense grinding session has Quinn's thoughts a little jumbled. "Um, let's go up to my room."

Rachel doesn't ask questions, she just follows and takes a seat on the edge of the unmade bed while Quinn takes out her contacts. It's been a couple days and ever since she's started wearing her glasses more, her eyes seem to want to breathe more often than they needed to before.

As she settles the frames on her face, Rachel flashes a small smile.

"What?"

"I still insist they're a good look on you."

"Weird things turn you on."

"That was simply a compliment. I wasn't attempting to hit on you."

There's a pile of assorted books and dvds on Quinn's bed, which Rachel immediately begins to poke through. Among the items are a few of the notes Rachel's left in her locker over the course of the last few weeks.

"I assumed you were throwing these away."

Quinn shrugs. "I tend to just stuff them in my bag." She grabs the pile and transfers it to her desk. "So, what now?" she asks as she lies back on the bed, stuffing a pillow under her head.

"We could watch tv," Rachel suggests, not even trying to hide the fact that it's a default answer.

It takes a moment for Quinn to dig the remote out from under her comforter, then she tosses it to Rachel. "Whatever you want to watch."

Rachel picks up the remote, but turns to face Quinn instead of the television. "Don't you want to ask anything?"

"I'm fine with whatever's on. I'll honestly probably fall asleep." Quinn already has her eyes closed.

"I meant about Finn."

"Why? I already dated him. And I already told you, it's none of my business."

"You're not curious at all about why I ended things? Or why..."

Quinn is curious. She does want to know. But the way Rachel's bordering on over-explanation, makes her want to stop all conversation. "I don't care."

"Oh."

"Not like..." She sits up. "Look, I... I get it if you just need... whatever this is, right now." Quinn's not stupid, she doesn't have high hopes for anything when she's obviously some kind of rebound activity.

"You think I'm like that? That I'd just use you?" Rachel's voice goes up in a way that suggests Quinn definitely said the wrong thing.

"I..." This is already too much talk about something that should be so easy.

Rachel shakes her head. "I should go home."

"Let me get my keys."

"It's okay, I'll walk."

Quinn lets her go and then proceeds to regret it for the rest of the afternoon.

Around seven-thirty in the evening, she attempts to make up for it. It's lame, it's ridiculous, and the boombox isn't heavy, but her arms are already tired from holding it over her head and the song's still in its first chorus. Plus, she feels like a total tool for blasting Avril Lavigne at someone's bedroom window, but she's kind of done giving fucks about anything.

Almost anything.

She actually gives a fuck about getting Rachel not to hate her. She also really hopes Rachel's actually home, because this would really suck if the strains of Keep Holding On were being played to an empty house.

The upstairs window opens and Rachel's head appears. She mouths something, but Quinn can't hear it and as she strains to listen, she fumbles the radio and almost drops it on her head. Fortunately, it's a quick recovery and she lowers the boombox without incident, then turns down the volume.

"What?"

"I said, it's cold out there."

"Kind of." Quinn's not sure if it's an invitation to come in or a suggestion to go home.

"The front door's unlocked. My dads aren't home."

Invitation it is. She stashes the radio in her car, then enters the house. As tough as she tries to be, she hates the cold and the warmth of the home has her sighing in relief once she's inside.

Rachel doesn't come down, so Quinn goes up to find her in her bedroom.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Quinn slips off her shoes for no reason other than it gives her something to do. "Okay, so... I want to know."

"I thought it wasn't any of your business."

"It's not, but..."

"I actually is, a little." Rachel scoots over on her bed, making room for Quinn.

Quinn sits and folds her legs up under her. "Okay."

"I didn't tell him that but... ever since that incident under the bleachers, I've been thinking about you."

"That time we kissed."

"Yes. The first time."

Quinn can't help but smile to herself that there's a need to define it as such. "So... we kissed... and a month later, you broke up with him." Rachel nods. "Because... you're into me?"

"If that much isn't glaringly evident to you by now, Quinn, I may have to reconsider."

"Hey," her hand gently wraps around Rachel's arm. "I get it. And I'm sorry I said what I did earlier. I'm just a little out of practice when it comes to actually getting what I want."

"Are you implying that you want me?"

"I think I basically just said that." Quinn knows Rachel will have questions about logistics, about dating, about school. But she doesn't want to do much talking, right now.

And for someone who thoroughly enjoys the sound of her own voice, Rachel's unusually quiet as she turns to fully face Quinn. "How much?" she finally says, voice quiet.

"How much what?"

"Do you want me?"

"Like with numbers? Seventeen."

"Out of?"

"Eleven." Quinn doesn't wait to be told that her math doesn't add up. She closes the gap between them and kisses Rachel with a softness that was absent in their earlier encounter, but the desire that's been there every time their lips have met.

Her glasses keep bumping up against Rachel's face and she reaches up to take them off, but there's a hand on hers, preventing her from grabbing the frames.

"I like them."

"Right now? They're kind of in the way."

"They're you. I like you."

"You're so weird." But Quinn leaves them on, for now.

Their make-out session ends up being more cuddle-based, anyway. Quinn's still tired from being hungover and Rachel seems content with lying against her while they watch some VH1 countdown show.

Whatever conversation they need to have about this, about whatever this is, it'll wait.


	9. Absurdity

A week later and it's actually Halloween. Okay, it's actually not, it's only the 29th, but the holiday's on a Monday, so the last day for a proper, fully costumed Halloween party is the Saturday before. This time, the party's at Brittany's place, because Mr. and Mrs. Pierce are out of town.

Quinn still hasn't had The Conversation with Rachel, but to be fair, they spent the entirely of last weekend using their lips, just not the way that results in much talking. Because Quinn's still fully opted out of Glee Club, there hasn't been much time to spend together after school, because Rachel's either working with New Directions or at one of her dance or voice classes. This really just leaves time during school for them to talk, and since they haven't actually discussed what they're doing, they've basically been carrying on as the always have, save for that one encounter in the girls' room next to the cafeteria where Rachel basically ambushed her and they proceeded to make out all through Thursday's lunch period.

And, really, maybe Quinn's kind of counting on tonight to be a chance for them to figure something out. Except, the fact that Brittany only lives a block and a half from Quinn means that neither she nor Rachel drove and they were both presented with Jello shots immediately after entering the party.

The walk over had been nice, though. But all conversation had been monopolized by discussion of their costumes.

"What even are you?"

"I'm Maureen from Rent. This is an exact replica of her wardrobe during her performance of Over the Moon."

There's something about it that makes her think of Shelby, but she's not really sure about telling her kind of girlfriend type person that she looks a hot version of like her mom, so she says, "You just look like you're wearing regular clothes. If you ever actually wore regular clothes."

"Excuse me, but you're the one wearing a cheerleading uniform from the same team on which you participated for most of your high school career."

"Okay, but, I'm a zombie cheerleader. My skin is not naturally this greenish-gray color, and this uniform doesn't normally have the midriff ripped out of it."

"Won't you get in trouble?"

"No." Quinn deflates a little. "Maybe. But only if Coach actually sees it."

"I've never been so attracted to the undead before. I hope this isn't a precursor to something disturbing, later in life."

"Maybe it's not the zombie element."

"Are you suggesting it's the uniform?"

"Possibly."

"It also may simply be the person inside of it."

Quinn's cheeks warm up a little at the thought that she alone is responsible for turning Rachel on, or whatever it is they're talking about. She drops Rachel's hand as they move up the front walk of the Pierce house.

She immediately misses the warmth of it.

This party's better than the one from last week, maybe because she actually wants to be inside with someone. Also, Santana and Brittany seem to be maneuvering back into familiar territory, particularly over this last week. Quinn actually told Santana about making out with Rachel, because she knew her friend could keep her mouth shut about it. This also means that Santana keeps smirking at her all night. Considering that her friend is dressed as a Playboy Bunny, she kind of doesn't care.

Brittany on the other hand, is dressed in some kind of sexy police officer's uniform, but when Puck says, "Slutty Cop. Cool," her reply is, "No, I'm a stripper. Can't you tell? Police don't wear booty shorts. They'd get major wedgies every time they had to chase down a perp."

Rachel feels the need to mingle with the rest of New Directions while Quinn feels the need to avoid them, so she lets Santana coerce her into a round of tequila shots in the kitchen.

"So?" Santana chucks her lime into the sink.

"So, what?"

"You and Broadway showed up together... if you don't start telling people, they're going to figure it out."

"Broadway? That's new. And not offensive."

"She's your girlfriend, I'm trying to be... not a total bitch."

"You must be getting laid regularly."

"It's awesome, you should try it."

"And she's not my girlfriend."

Santana replies with a closed mouth and a raised eyebrow and Quinn feels an arm slip through hers.

"Quinn, I need to tell you about a thing," Rachel says, before dragging her toward the hall.

And then they're in the bathroom, which is strangely becoming a thing for them and Quinn's not entirely sure what to make of it. It doesn't matter, because nothing needs to be made of anything as long as Rachel's perched up on the edge of the counter with her legs wrapped around Quinn's hips.

"Pretty sure I'm getting make-up on your clothes."

"Costume."

"Same."

The unborn argument fizzles as Quinn's tongue slips past Rachel's lips, into her mouth. She hears throaty moan and it just makes her hands grip more tightly around the Rachel's waist. Her head drops down so she can focus attention on the other girl's neck and it's also an ideal chance to catch her breath because kissing Rachel means kissing someone who's been professionally trained in the area of breath control and it's honestly hard to keep up, sometimes.

"You know, it's..." Whatever Rachel's trying to say is cut short by a whimper when Quinn's teeth lightly catch her earlobe. "Um... it's... been a week since we..."

"Yeah, I know." Quinn's words are practically breathed into Rachel's ear. That elicits another non-verbal reply.

"So..."

"So?" Quinn very reluctantly pulls her lips away from Rachel's skin, not because she doesn't want to talk about this, but because she's buzzed and would so much rather be finding ways to get more of those sounds out of Rachel.

Unfortunately, the next sound either of them hears is a heavy fist on the door. "Hey, Rachel? Are you in there?"

Finn.

"Seriously?" Quinn whispers to the girl in front of her.

Rachel sighs. "He's probably drunk." She leans forward against Quinn. "Just... hide for a second and I'll ask him to leave."

"Hide? What is this? Nick-at-Nite?"

"Quinn," Rachel says, her seriousness emphasized by the finger poking against the front of the altered Cheerios uniform. "If he sees us both in here, he'll ask a million questions. And I want to make-out more." Then, as if she's just remembering it, "And talk."

"Rachel?" The handle rattles.

"Just a moment, please!" Rachel calls in the direction of the door.

Quinn helps Rachel down off the counter, then resigns to hiding in the shower with the curtain drawn. She knows Finn's harmless, that he probably just wants to cry on Rachel's shoulder or something. And it's not really his fault that he's cutting into valuable secret hook-up time.

"Hi, are you okay?"

"I'm quite well, Finn. Thank you."

"I just... wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Well, I am."

"Can... we talk? I feel like we should talk."

"If this is about an... attempt to rekindle our previous relationship, there's nothing to discuss. I'm simply not interested."

Quinn smiles a little at the fact that Rachel's able to ramble in complete sentences, even while inebriated.

"Why not? I thought we had it worked out."

"But it just didn't work. I'm sorry."

"Is... is there someone else?"

"I'm..." Quinn can hear the struggle in Rachel's voice. It would be so much easier if they were to just tell people. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Does that mean there is?"

Quinn can't do this, not they way they have been. It's feels too much like sneaking around and that's only ever gotten her in trouble. "It's all right, Rachel. Just tell him," she says as she shoves the curtain back.

Finn screams, legitimately screams, likely at the fact that a zombie cheerleader has just materialized in front of him. Of course, by now, most of the make-up has rubbed off and there wasn't that much on her face to begin with. Still, Quinn figures it was probably pretty terrifying for at least a second or two. "Jesus, Quinn. How... what..." Now, both girls are faced with the fact that Frankenstein's monster is clutching his chest in front of them, but he seems to regain his breath just fine after a moment. "Tell me... what?"

He looks at Rachel, but she's looking at Quinn with an expectant expression.

"That... she's kind of my girlfriend," Quinn says. "Actually, not kind of. She is. My girlfriend. As of tonight." She reaches over to let two of her fingers catch on to of Rachel's.

"You two?" Finn looks from Quinn to Rachel and back.

"Finn, bro, it's our turn at beer pon- Oh, hey." Puck stops in the doorway when he sees the group in the bathroom.

"Did you know about this?" Finn asks him.

"What? The bathroom party? I did not." Puck's eyes lower to see the girls holding hands. "But... maybe I want to find out."

"They're hooking up."

"That makes it sound vulgar. We're in a relationship," Rachel replies, then immediately turns to Quinn. "We are, right?"

"Pretty sure that's what 'girlfriend' means. And if you'll excuse us, we are going to go make-out somewhere." Quinn moves behind Rachel to settle her hands on her waist and gently pushes her toward the door. "Alone," she says to Puck as they move past him.

They end up back in the kitchen, where Santana demands they do another round of shots.

"Looks like you had a mouth-to-mouth conversation with your friend from the Shire," she says as she hands Quinn her shot glass.

"Don't say that about my girlfriend."

"About damn time." Santana taps her glass against Quinn's, then against Rachel's. "Broadway."

Quinn's pretty sure she hears the sound of a chair being kicked over.

She doesn't care.


	10. Sobriety

"Shhhhh." Quinn presses a finger to Rachel's lips to keep her from singing the next verse of the epic Celine ballad she started on the walk home. Once she's sure that her newly established girlfriend will actually be quiet, she slips the key in the lock and carefully opens the front door. It takes a lot of concentration because Quinn is definitely wasted.

So is Rachel. "But it's all coming back to me now," she whispers.

"Stop," Quinn giggles, tugging Rachel into the house and trying desperately not to slam the door behind them. "Come on."

The house is dark, except for the glow of the small lamp Judy leaves on in the living room. Their hands are practically fused together and have been since they left the party. The fresh cool air was enough to sober Quinn up a little, but now that they're safely in her house, in her bedroom, she doesn't have to be responsible for their safety, so she relaxes and lets the remaining haze envelop her.

She falls back on the bed and Rachel climbs right on top of her, the fingers of both hands laced together and pressed against the mattress right above Quinn's head. These kisses, the ones they're exchanging now, are sloppy and occasionally misplaced, but they're also somehow more intimate than any of the others they've shared before.

Maybe it has something to do with being girlfriends.

"You should," Quinn manages when Rachel's mouth veers toward her ear. "Take off your-"

"-Okay." Rachel's suddenly upright and tugging her shirt over her head.

"I was going to say boots," Quinn says, letting her head rest against the comforter.

"Oh, oops. You want me to put this back on?" Rachel asks as she loses her balance and slips off Quinn's legs and lands on the bed.

"Nope." Quinn takes the tank top and tosses it somewhere to her left.

Rachel's flat on her back and making no effort to reach for her boots. "Can you help?"

"Mmm hmm." Quinn folds her legs over the edge of the bed and uses them to pull her forward until she topples over the side and lands on her knees. She turns and almost ends up with a face full of bootleather. Or boot pleather. Whatever. "Hold still."

"I am." Rachel sits up and looks down at Quinn, who's currently pulling on the zipper to remove the right boot, then the left. "Come back up here."

"Was already planning on it." Quinn pauses to slip her sneakers off her own feet, then crawls back up into the space next to Rachel.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

Rachel starts singing the damn song, again. "But if I touch you like this..."

The only way to keep her from singing is to kiss her, that much Quinn knows. So she does. Except then Rachel starts humming.

"Rach."

"Huh?"

"That's weird."

"It's funny."

"No." But Quinn laughs. She stops, though, when she hears the creak of the hallway floor. "Shhhh." A hand places itself over Rachel's mouth. Just in case.

"Quinn?" calls a voice through the door.

"Yeah?" she calls back.

"You're home?"

"Yeah, mom. I'm home." There's no reply, then more creaking and the sound of the door down the hall closing. Quinn's still looking at Rachel. She has been this entire time. "She's drunk."

A hand reaches up to shove Quinn's away. "You're drunk."

Quinn smirks. "You're drunk."

"You're sexy."

"Like I said."

Rachel's bottom lip is trapped between her teeth and her eyes keep wandering to Quinn's lips. There's suddenly a firm grip on the front of the Cheerios uniform and they're back to making out. The fact that one of them isn't wearing a shirt and the other's only wearing half of one makes it easy for hands to wander and it also makes this the furthest they've gone together, as far as taking clothes off, anyway.

Quinn's hand is cupping Rachel through her bra and she's currently very content with the rate of increased breathing she's hearing from the other girl. Then Rachel hooks one leg up over Quinn's waist and pulls them closer together and Quinn's the one having trouble catching her breath.

"I want you," Rachel mutters against Quinn's lips.

"To what?" Quinn feels a hand wrap around hers and suddenly her fingers are pressed firmly against the crotch of Rachel's pants. "Oh."

"But I... let me take those off." Rachel begins to sit up, Quinn pulls her back down.

"Hey, hold on. We're really drunk." There's something about this, maybe it's the uniform she's wearing, maybe it's the taste of alcohol still in her mouth, but she needs to slow things down.

"I know. It's because of the shots."

"Yeah. It is." She traces her fingers over Rachel's cheek. "And I think getting in your pants would be awesome."

"Me, too."

"But not tonight."

"Oh." Rachel looks uncomfortable for a split second, then recovers with, "You can't get me pregnant, if that's what you're worried about."

Quinn shakes her head. "I'm not. But if we're going to... it should be special. Not... this."

"I think you're special."

"I think you're wasted."

"So're you." Rachel's eyes droop a little and Quinn's fairly confident she made the right decision.

"If you want, I'll still take off your pants for you."

Rachel nods. Quinn helps remove the pants and drops her own costume on the floor. She considers that she should take a shower so she doesn't get make-up all over her sheets, but she ultimately doesn't care.

Once they're both under the covers, Rachel cozies up to her and initiates a lazy series of kisses. Now that Quinn's totally horizontal, the remainder of the alcohol in her system is just making her tired. The same seems to apply to the girl next to her, because the kissing has stopped and Rachel's breathing has evened out.

But right as Quinn starts to drift off, she hears Rachel's voice.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Still wish you'd come back to glee."

She turns her head and presses her lips to Rachel's forehead. "I'll think about it."

"Good."

A few hours later, she wakes up alone, but her bedroom door's open and she can see the light from the bathroom shining down the hallway. It's hard for her to force herself out of bed, but she definitely doesn't need her mother coming out to investigate, so she grabs the t-shirt and boxers she slept in the night before and slips them on before heading out into the hall.

And then she hears it, the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up, followed by the sound of the toilet flushing.

"Shit," she mutters, under her breath.

Once she's in the bathroom, she shuts the door and looks down at the sight of Rachel all but passed out over the toilet bowl. Quinn's head is killing her, but she can tell her girlfriend feels much worse than she does, so she opens one of the drawers and finds one of the hair ties she hasn't used since the trip to New York. Carefully, she pulls Rachel's hair back from around her face and secures it in a loose ponytail.

"I'm dying."

It figures, even indisposed, that Rachel would be a drama queen.

"You're not dying." Quinn reaches for her robe that's draped of the hook on the back of the door and wraps it around Rachel.

"I can't move."

"Then don't." Quinn sits on the bath mat and tugs the towel down off the rack. "Come here."

"But I can't," Rachel whines. Still, she lets Quinn direct her head away from the bowl until she's lying on the folded towel that rests on Quinn's lap.

Some indiscernible time later, Quinn wakes up with a kink in her neck and a pain in her back from the tub, but she's able to convince Rachel that it's okay to go back to bed and even manages to get the girl to rinse her mouth with some mouthwash before they return to the bedroom.

She's not even sure how or why, because it's borderline insane, but she finds herself humming that stupid Celine Dion song. Ever weirder, it seems to lull Rachel back to sleep.

"Don't get used to it," Quinn whispers.

Whether it's to herself or the sleeping girl next to her, she's not entirely sure.


	11. Proximity

Their post party morning together at the Fabray house is drastically different than Quinn's experience with the Berrys. No one's making breakfast because no one else is home. It's Sunday, which means her mom is at church, then will go to lunch at the country club and won't be home until mid-afternoon.

She prefers this, though, to her mother waking her up at eight on a weekend. Sometime around August, Judy stopped trying to get Quinn to accompany her to Sunday services and Quinn's fine with that, because she knows even without the pink hair and the nose ring, people would still stare at her because no one's forgotten she's that girl who got knocked up a while back. Occasionally, she still runs into people she's only even known peripherally and every once in a while they ask about Beth, only they don't know her name, they just assume Quinn gave up her life to raise some kid she wasn't even supposed to have in the first place. It's actually part of why she started hanging with the Skanks, because she figured it would make her less approachable.

Rachel's still sound asleep, but Quinn's awake. She always sleeps less after drinking. Her headache still lingers, but it's not too bad, especially after she showers and takes out her contacts.

A trip down to the kitchen yields some plain bagels and coffee. She also grabs a bottle of water, because she knows Rachel will need it, then piles everything on top of a tray and carries it upstairs.

She'd left the now laundered pajamas she'd worn home from Rachel's last week at the foot of the bed and when she re-enters the room, she catches her girlfriend slipping the tank top over her head. "Morning."

Rachel makes a gravelly noise that maybe sounds like a reply.

Quinn sets the tray on her desk. "We have bagels and coffee. Maybe, if you want, we can order something later." She picks up the water bottle and hands it to the girl on the bed. "Drink this."

"I really..." Rachel takes the bottle. "... need to brush my teeth. But my bag is still in my car." She sounds exhausted just from stringing together the sentence.

It's not funny, except for the part where it's hilarious. Presented out of context, it would seem like Rachel was on her death bed and not just hungover from a high school Halloween party. "I'll get it."

A small smile works its way across Rachel's face, knocking her over the top performance aside and replacing it with sincerity. "You will?"

"It's just outside. It's not a crusade."

Rachel slowly drains at least a quarter of the water bottle. "You look nice."

Quinn scrunches up her brow in disagreement. She's wearing a random pair of cut off gray sweatpants and red plaid flannel shirt. "You're dehydrated."

"How come you won't let me say nice things about you?"

"I don't stop you."

"But you act like it can't be true."

Quinn doesn't have an answer. She's done being the pretty girl, the polite and proper one. Nice is an adjective she's been trying to avoid. "I'll be right back."

When she returns upstairs with Rachel's purple duffel bag in hand, she hears the shower and finds her bedroom empty. A few bites are missing from one of the bagels and the water bottle is half empty.

She knocks on the bathroom door, but Rachel doesn't reply so she tries the knob. It's not locked.

"Rachel?"

"Yeah."

"I'm just putting your bag on the counter."

"On the what?" The curtain pulls back a little and Rachel peeks out, hair wet, water dripping down her face.

The view is entirely G Rated and Quinn still averts her eyes. "Counter."

"Thanks."

Quinn heads back to her room, strips off the sheets and tosses them in the hamper. She doesn't feel like remaking the bed, so she just pulls up the comforter over the mattress and stretches out while she flips channels on the tv. When Rachel comes back in from her shower, she still looks tired, but also fresh faced.

The remainder of their morning is filled with cat naps and reality shows. As usual, Rachel's the one who starts up the conversation in the middle of comfortable stillness, but it's not intrusive the way Quinn might have classified it a year ago.

"Did you mean what you said last night?"

Quinn said a lot of things the night before. "I... don't think I said anything I didn't mean."

"Will you really think about coming back?"

Right. That thing. "I don't know why it matters so much to you-"

"Quinn, you're a part of-"

"Hey, I wasn't done."

"Sorry."

Rachel's head is on her shoulder, but she wants to be able to look at her, so Quinn nudges with her shoulder until Rachel catches on and they're both facing each other. "I don't know why it matters so much to you, but I can tell that it does. And... I mean, I'm still not sure, because I don't think everyone else feels the same way. Especially not now. Finn's going to be weird."

"I don't care."

Quinn pokes at Rachel's ribs. "Still not done."

"It's possible you talk too much."

"Hypocr-" In a reversal of their usual, it's Rachel who shuts her up with a kiss. It's a little frustrating to be interrupted, but that sentiment quickly fades as she's rolled onto her back and presented with the slight pressure of the body on top of her own. "Feeling better?"

Rachel nods and proceeds to place lingering kisses along the length of her neck, ear to shoulder. "I recall you being incredibly chivalrous last night."

"I just want it to be right when we..."

"What about now?"

"Now? As in... now?" As Quinn looks up at her, this girl with her head tilted to the side, brown hair cascaded over one shoulder, she sees a quiet simplicity in Rachel, something she's positive not a lot of other people have witnessed.

"It's okay if you don't."

"I just thought maybe you'd want it to be... more than this."

"More than what? You being attentive? Bringing me breakfast in bed?"

"Technically, it was breakfast near bed."

"Quinn, you need to believe that you're enough. Just you." Rachel leans down to press her lips to Quinn's, then carefully tugs her glasses away from her face. She stretches her arm to set the frames on the nightstand, then grazes her nose over Quinn's. "Just. You."

Both of Quinn's hands slide up Rachel's back and stop at her shoulders. "Thought you liked my glasses."

Rachel sits up, letting Quinn's arms fall to her sides, and casually removes her tank top, similar to the way she did hours earlier. Only, right now, she's sober and clearly telling Quinn she wants to do this. This time, she doesn't stop with the shirt. One arm slips behind her back and suddenly Rachel's bra falls slack and slips down one arm. Quinn still apparently has control over her motor skills, because she hooks a finger in the other strap and pulls until the garment is free of Rachel's body. This leaves a very topless girl sitting in front of her. Or, actually, on top of her.

Quinn pushes herself upright and, as inviting at the view of Rachel's breasts totally might be, she looks up at her girlfriend's face. "I've never actually done this... with..."

"Me neither. But I think you're supposed to..." Rachel guides one of Quinn's hands to her chest and it's definitely the first time Quinn's copped a feel on another girl without any barriers.

"Okay." It feels like it should be a stupid thing to say, but it's all Quinn can think of with her palm dead center over a rapidly hardening nipple. Her eyes close and her mouth moves over the bare collar bone that's in close proximity, then dips lower until her tongue makes contact with the mirror image point of where her hand currently resides.

Rachel draws in a sharp breath and that's all it takes for Quinn to know this is something she definitely needs to explore. She also needs a better angle, so she loops her other arm around Rachel's back and flips their position so she's on top and there's brunette hair contrasting against the white of the bare pillows.

Two hands tangle in her hair as she experiments with which angles and movements generate the best response. She does this until one of the hands wraps in the fabric of her flannel and tugs her upward.

"Take this off." But Rachel doesn't even wait for Quinn to do as she's asked, she just starts unbuttoning the shirt herself. Quinn lets her. She hadn't bothered with any kind of underwear after her shower, because she was just expecting to lie around. It's obvious that Rachel had a different expectation regarding underwear, judging by the way her eyes widen when she catches a glimpse of what a bra would be covering, if it were present.

Quinn has a smart ass comment somewhere in her brain, but it's erased the second she's pulled down against Rachel, their bodies pressing against each other. A sigh escapes her mouth and she feels both content and excited, like she can't decide between staying right where she is and wanting to find out what else can happen, right now. One of her legs is trapped between Rachel's and they're in a familiar position, especially when hips angle upward and force warmth against her thigh. For a minute, that's enough to satiate her, the soft skin on skin, the sounds Rachel makes beneath her.

And then it's not. She needs more. Rachel needs more. They need more.

It's not particularly elegant, the way they both fumble with Quinn's shorts and Rachel's pajamas. The second she sees that Quinn's now already totally undressed, Rachel unceremoniously shoves off her panties, too.

The feeling of Rachel's breasts against her own is incredible. The feeling of Rachel's entire body against her own borders on indescribable, because she doesn't think she has enough access to her thoughts to find any words.

She lies there, her head on Rachel's shoulder, fingers trailing downward, over stiff peaks, then down around the dip of her bellybutton. They trace sideways to the curve of a hip bone, then toward her inner thigh, but she stops there and props herself up on a free elbow.

"You sure?"

Rachel nods. "Yes." Her hand slips behind Quinn's neck and pulls her close.

Quinn's fingers slip through sticky heat and she tries hard to concentrate while Rachel's tongue drags over her own. She's touched herself, particularly a lot this summer, and this is similar but still totally different. Her fingertips work in lazy circles and when she hits a spot that makes Rachel groan, she zeroes in on it.

Rachel's head pushes back into the pillows and Quinn smirks at the sight, until she feels a hand between her own legs. "What are you doing?"

"Just curious."

Quinn removes her hand from between Rachel's thighs and grips her girlfriend's wrist. "Not yet." She uses her other hand to pin the arm down up near Rachel's head, then resumes what she was doing. For a second she worries that the restraint might make Rachel uncomfortable, so she releases her hold only to have the other girl lock their fingers together.

Judging by the way Rachel's hips keep rocking upward, Quinn figures she's due for a change in technique. Her fingers slide away from their current location and move lower until she's easing one into tight warm wetness. She never had any idea that this, being inside someone else, that someone being Rachel, would be so fucking exhilarating.

"God, Quinn," Rachel groans.

That adds to the exhilaration. Quinn wonders if it's possible to get off on it.

The body under her arches upward, Rachel's back rises up off the bed, her hips bear down against Quinn's hand, and Quinn's not sure where to look because everything's happening at once. Her main concern is to keep up what she's doing, because that's what Rachel needs, right now.

"Is this...?"

"Uh huh."

Quinn does her best to keep up a steady pace while also trying to position her thumb where it will provide some necessary friction. It seems to work out, because after a while Rachel's pawing at her and panting and it's probably the hottest thing Quinn's ever experienced.

Until thirty seconds later, when Rachel comes and there's hot breath in her ear and she can literally feel everything happening. She's not sure what to do with her hand, but that's remedied when Rachel pushes it away and wraps herself around Quinn.

"You okay?"

"Uh huh."

Rachel's head is tucked under Quinn's chin and she's hit with the smell of her own shampoo on Rachel's hair, along with the scent of sex in the air. She drags the edge of the comforter up over them and they're cocooned together.

The fact that anything more could happen beyond this moment kind of blows her mind.


	12. Intensity

There's a moment when Quinn thinks Rachel's fallen asleep, but the sensation of fingertips working small circles over her stomach tells her otherwise. The kisses on her neck also clue her in that her girlfriend is very much awake.

Also, she has a girlfriend. That's still new.

"Relax," purrs Rachel's voice in her ear.

"I am." Fingers tickle at her hipbone and and Quinn twists, involuntarily. "That's... rude."

"I'm just trying to get you out of your head."

"What does that even me- Oh, god."

The hand that was on her hip is now lower and more centered. Rachel's not really doing anything yet, though, other than stroking her inner thigh.

"It means..." A soft kiss plants itself on Quinn's lips. "I want you here with me."

"I am here with you," Quinn whispers. Her own hand reaches down and pushes Rachel's that inch or so in the right direction, then she exhales at the relief of being touched.

She hears a low chuckle. "Quinn."

"Yeah?"

"You trust me, right?"

Quinn nods. "Of course."

"Then can I... you know... myself?"

"I..." She realizes her own hand is still wrapped tightly over the one between her legs, just holding it in place. "Oh." Her arm moves and her fingers dig into the comforter. "Go ahead."

"Ever the romantic," Rachel lulls before putting her mouth to different use, leaving kisses along Quinn's jaw.

It starts out slow and tentative, gentle and indiscernible patterns as fingertips glide easily, exploring space no else has ever really touched. Puck wasn't entirely inattentive, but he also wasn't... like this.

Rachel is delicate and dexterous, her touches are light and nothing about this feels rushed. Like they have all the time, like, ever.

She needs Rachel to kiss her, so she slips her hand behind the girl's head and pulls her in. This has to be it, she thinks, the way everything is supposed to feel when things feel right and good and perfect. Or, that's what she thought. That entire theory is turned on its head when Rachel pushes into her and Quinn has to stop kissing her so she can fling her head back further into the pillow and it's like she goes cross-eyed for just a second.

"Is that okay?" The hand stills and there's concern in Rachel's voice.

Quinn nods. She nods, a lot. "Keep doing that." Her visions a little fuzzy, but she definitely sees the smile on Rachel's face.

"This?" The movement resumes.

"Uh huh." She pulls together a few more words to express her train of thought. "And, um... you can do... more. Like..."

"... like this?"

Where there was one finger, there's now two and Quinn's back to that borderline cross-eyed expression, so she figures she should just shut her eyes and let Rachel do whatever the hell she wants.

She at least manages to breathe out, "Perfect."

The more strokes Rachel makes, the more Quinn's right foot digs into the mattress because her leg's folded up with one knee in the air and she keeps pressing her heel down so she can rock her hips up to meet Rachel's hand. They've quickly worked out that the deeper thrusts lead Rachel's palm to create just the right kind of friction where Quinn needs it.

Quinn apparently needs it a lot, right now, because she's frantically trying to make that happen as much as possible.

And then it hits her. It's similar to the time they got off together on the couch in the garage. And it's also nothing at all like it, either.

Rachel's right there, next to her, above her, inside her, and she can feel every part of where they're touching. It's almost too much to the point where it is too much, but all she wants is to stay right where she is, because she doesn't want to be anywhere else.

"Quinn?"

She tries to reply, but all she can muster is, "Hmm?"

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"What? You... no... I'm fine." Quinn opens her eyes, but her vision's a blurred mess and her face is wet and she realizes she's crying. She wipes at her tears and looks at Rachel. "I'm so good, I swear." There's even a laugh that follows.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Rachel. I promise."

Rachel sighs in relief. "Here I thought I'd be the one moved to tears."

"Shut up." But Quinn follows it with a kiss. "That was... shit... I don't even know what it was."

"An orgasm. It's quite natural."

"I'm aware." The comforter's been displaced during this latest round of activity, so Quinn folds it up around them, again.

As small as Rachel is, she has the ability to make Quinn feel incredibly secure in her arms. Quinn doesn't want to move, ever. And for an entire seventeen minutes, her wish is granted.

Then Rachel's phone rings. "That's my Dad's tone."

Quinn kisses Rachel's chin, then releases her hold on her so she can answer the call.

The cell phone is on the same nightstand as Quinn's glasses, so Rachel passes them to her as she says, "Hello?"

While Rachel sits on the bed, holding the bedspread up over her with one hand, Quinn picks up her discarded clothing and redresses before heading out to the hall closet to get clean sheets for her bed.

The call doesn't last long and it's no surprise when Rachel says she needs to head home.

"Sure," Quinn says as tries not to watch Rachel slip her underwear back on. "I guess I'll see you at school, then." She pulls the blanket and pillows off the bed.

"No."

Quinn looks up. "What?"

Rachel leaves the cupcake pants on the floor and digs a pair of jeans out of her bag. "See me tonight. Come over for dinner."

"Is that... okay?"

"Yes, it's okay." She catches the edge of the fitted sheet that Quinn just tossed across the mattress and helps slip it over the corners on her side.

"With your dads?" Quinn does the same with the top sheet, then the comforter.

"Considering you're my girlfriend, they're going to want to discuss some things with you." Rachel walks over to her, clad only in her bra and unbuttoned jeans.

Quinn absently chucks the last pillow toward the bed, then hooks her fingers over the top of the open jeans and tugs Rachel forward until they bump together. "Why do I feel like this suddenly turned into a high-pressure situation?"

"They already know you."

"That doesn't mean they like me." Quinn's head angles down until her forehead rests against Rachel's.

"They like you."

"How do you know?"

"We discussed you over brunch yesterday." Rachel trails her finger over the exposed skin just above the uppermost buttoned button (which is still three buttons down) of Quinn's flannel.

"And I'm actually positive that's not an exaggeration of any kind."

"I never exaggerate."

"That's a lie."

"I never lie, either!"

"Maybe you should just stop talking."

Rachel complies, but only because her mouth is suddenly occupied with the task of kissing Quinn.

Quinn wonders if this technique of silencing her girlfriend will ever get old.

She hopes not.


	13. Accountability

Quinn's sure that dinner will be awkward.

It isn't.

Hiram and Leroy are just as accommodating and friendly as they were the morning Quinn stayed for breakfast. They talk about college plans (this is the first she's heard about Rachel considering NYU as a fallback school) and occasionally hold hands under the table. It's possible Hiram notices, but he doesn't call them out like he did with the footsie incident.

After they help clear the dishes, Rachel all but drags Quinn upstairs to her bedroom. It's really only been a few hours since they had sex, but that doesn't stop them from wanting to make out at every given opportunity.

In the middle of what's probably their third round of kisses, Rachel pulls back.

"Quinn? I want to ask you something and my reasoning is one of personal concern, so please don't think I'm being judgemental-"

"So, just ask."

"I'd like you to consider giving up your smoking habit. As much as I have to admit I enjoy the rough quality it's given your speaking voice, it's detrimental to your health, as well as those around you. Not to mention, cigarette butts are a primary source of litter-"

"Rachel."

"This is important, Quinn. Please consider it."

"I haven't had a cigarette since last weekend."

Rachel props herself up on an elbow. "You haven't?"

Quinn shakes her head. "I ran out and never bought another pack. And... I kind of expected this little speech, to be honest."

"Are you implying I'm predictable?"

"Sometimes, yes." Rachel pins Quinn down on the bed and after they break from the kiss to breathe, Quinn says, "Totally saw that coming."

Rachel's eyes narrow and her head dips down until her lips are right against Quinn's ear. "I really want you to go down on me," she whispers.

Quinn's body reacts before she can think of a clever response. So, she's stuck with, "Oh."

"Gotcha." Rachel smirks down at her.

Quickly, though, Quinn takes control of the situation and grabs Rachel's hips and flip their position. Her girlfriend's in different attire than she was when she left Quinn's house earlier in the day, which works out well because now Rachel's in a skirt instead of jeans.

She's about to ask if she can take of the panties that are currently under the skirt, but Rachel's hips are already rising up off the bed to give her access, so she just pushes one eyebrow upward and tugs the undergarment down. On her way back up, she trails kisses along Rachel's right leg, then her left inner thigh. She's never done this before, so it's a little intimidating, because there's the thought in the back of her mind that maybe she'll do it wrong. Then Rachel's fingers are laced through her hair and she suddenly feels a rush of nervous control before she leans forward to drag her mouth over the sticky heat in front of her.

The sound Rachel makes is the most erotic thing she's heard in her entire life.

Just like earlier that day, Quinn's quick to figure out the mechanics of the situation and ends up with her arms looped under Rachel's thighs. It's easy for her to get lost in the moment and it seems like barely no time at all before Rachel's body repeatedly rocks up off the bed while her legs tighten around Quinn's head.

Rachel manages to grab a pillow and cover her own face with it to avoid any audible reactions from filtering downstairs, even though her room is apparently soundproofed. As Quinn climbs up off the floor, her knees are a little sore, but it's totally worth it because Rachel looks even more spent than she did that afternoon. She wipes at her face with her hand and she's not sure about the etiquette of kissing her girlfriend right after doing that, but Rachel grabs the front of her shirt and pulls her right in for a kiss.

"Gotcha," she mumbles.

Rachel pushes at her shoulders, as is she's trying to shove her away, but it's halfhearted.

And then there's a knock on the bedroom door.

"Rachel?" booms Leroy's voice, "Would you come downstairs for a minute, please?"

Quinn's positive she turns bright red. "Do you think they heard us?" she asks, voice quiet.

Rachel shakes her head. "It's likely nothing. May I, um, please have my underwear?"

"Yeah." Quinn leans over the side of the bed and passes the panties to Rachel. She's still not convinced that this isn't something serious.

"It's fine," Rachel says, once she's redressed. "I'll be back shortly."

Quinn can't even make a quip about the word choice, because she's wondering what Rachel's dads could possibly want. As Rachel heads down to talk with her fathers, Quinn decides to duck into the bathroom to wash her face.

It can't be longer than two minutes before Rachel's back at the top of the stairs.

"My dad wants to talk to you."

Quinn's blood runs cold. "Which one?" She really needs to know if it's Dad or Daddy and if anyone was prematurely woken up from a nap or something.

"Dad."

That's less horrifying than Daddy, but Rachel isn't giving her anything to work with, so Quinn just takes a deep breath and moves for the staircase.

Down in the living room, Hiram's sitting in the arm chair next to the couch.

"Um, Rachel said you wanted to talk to me."

"Have a seat, Quinn." Quinn sits on the sofa so she's facing Hiram. "While Leroy and I are pleased that Rachel's so happy with you, we need to have a discussion about conduct in this house."

"Okay." Quinn draws in a deep breath. They had to have heard them. Or else they were psychic.

"Frankly, I'm disappointed. I would think the daughter of someone like Judy Fabray would have better sense than to do what you did."

"I..." Quinn's not sure how to approach this, especially since Rachel's always so adamant that her fathers are quite liberal when it comes to this exact topic. "Honestly, sir, I didn't realize it would be a problem."

Hiram shifts in his seat. "I see. You don't think it would be an issue if Rachel did the same in your home?"

"Uh..." Again, she's unsure about what to say.

"I would assume your mother wouldn't approve."

"She's generally distracted."

Hiram nods. "All right. Well. I think the fair thing here is for you to pay for a replacement."

"I... don't understand." This is getting weird. And now Quinn's not even sure what's happening, so words just begin to pour out of her mouth. "But I will say that the feelings I have for Rachel are serious and I don't think what we did today is at all out of order."

It's Hiram's turn to question the moment. "Quinn, I'm talking about the guest towels." He picks up the pale yellow towel that's been sitting on the floor next to his chair. There's still a very distinct pink stain across the middle of it.

"Right." Shit. And she just told him... "Definitely. Charge me for a whole new set. Please." Her ears are, like, on fire. "I'm sorry I tried to hide it."

And now Rachel's dad looks like he's trying not to laugh. "You can go back upstairs."

She practically runs and trips on the fifth step. When she makes it back to Rachel's room, she shuts the door behind her and leans against it. "Did you know what that was about?"

"No." Rachel smirks. "But I may have eavesdropped a little. Serious feelings?"

Quinn doesn't say anything, but she definitely spends the rest of the evening expressing a few more of those feelings.


	14. Simplicity

Quinn never rejoins New Directions.

Instead, she auditions for jazz band and ends up spending plenty of time with the glee club, anyway.

Rachel's bummed, at first, but once she realizes that Quinn's happier behind a guitar instead of center stage, she gets over it. They're still able to celebrate sectionals together, even if the victory really only belongs to the club and not the band. And, actually, because of all this, there's a special meeting the following Monday where New Directions honors the McKinley High Jazz Ensemble with a shiny plaque to call their own.

At this point, there are twelve days until Christmas and only a week before Hannukkah, and Quinn's been adamant about finishing her college applications before the coming weekend so she's not stressed out over them during any of the holidays. Rachel's been done since before Thanksgiving, but that's probably because Rachel's always known her post high school plans since the first grade.

Quinn's new to this whole idea of actually having a future she won't totally regret.

This doesn't mean she never considered college, particularly ones out of state, but this is the first time in a long time where she really feels like it's more than just a pipe dream. Despite her apathetic vacation at the top of the school year, she's never actually allowed her GPA to drop below a 3.5, so she's still able to lay claim to her honor roll position.

She just hopes that, along with her activities and life experience, are enough to get her accepted to Columbia or NYU or even Rutgers.

It's ridiculous. There's still an entire semester of high school left and she's already worried about what life would be like if she were away from Rachel. Not in a creepy, co-dependent way. Just in a way that it would suck to only see each other on breaks and the occasional weekend.

She gets everything sent in the mail by Saturday and the pressure of finishing is immediately replaced with the impatience of waiting for a response, but that won't happen for months. In the meantime, it's the weekend and she has a date with Rachel tonight. Except, it's only ten in the morning.

Her girlfriend has a voice lesson in the early afternoon and they're not supposed to go out until six, so Quinn's already decided to spend some time learning some Eva Cassidy covers, because blues guitar never fails to get Rachel seriously worked up. When Quinn first played Stormy Monday, the collateral damage included the button on Quinn's skirt, a snag in Rachel's cardigan, and one pair of panties torn beyond repair.

The memory leaves a smirk on Quinn's face, but it's replaced by a look of surprise when she walks back into the house to find her mother sitting on the sofa holding the Strat across her lap. She's holding it the right way, with her hands in the correct places, and she's actually playing something. The guitar's not plugged in, because the amp's still out in the garage. Quinn had been working out chord progressions while she watched some made for tv piece of crap on SyFy earlier that morning.

It takes a moment, but Quinn recognizes the strains of Time After Time and suddenly wonders why she never knew her mother had any musical inclination, at all. Sure, she was a decent singer in church, but there had never been any indication that the woman knew how to play an instrument.

Judy stops strumming once she sees Quinn in the doorway. She pulls her hand away from the neck of the guitar and stretches her fingers. "I'm honestly surprised I remembered that."

"I... had no idea you knew how to play." Quinn cautiously settles into the arm chair across from the couch, unsure about what she's just seen. This is unprecedented and she doesn't know what to do.

"It's been a very long time." Judy slides the guitar off her lap and rests it against the coffee table.

The realization comes quickly and the words rapidly follow. "That's not Dad's is it?"

"No." There's a laugh and even a smile. "Your father, if you recall, is tone deaf."

Quinn nods. Her dad was so bad, it distracted other people in church. "Did you ever, like, play with people?" Okay, totally weird wording when talking to a parental figure. "I mean, in a band or anything?"

"Yes. When I was in college, my sorority sisters came up with the idea to form a cover band as a fundraiser. We were quite popular."

"Not a surprise." Quinn can't remember the last time she actually sat and really talked with her mother about anything beyond school or where she was going for the evening. "Did this band have a name?"

"The Apocalipsticks."

"Cool." She actually means it. Honestly, if anyone had told her she'd find out her mom was once in a band, she would have assumed it was something lame. But something about the way Judy's looking at the Stratocaster and the lilt she uses when mentioning her former band name tells Quinn that, once upon a time, her mom was just a kid, like her. Okay, not totally like her. But she was young, once.

Which, yeah, everyone knows that's a thing about parents. But actually realizing it is kind of cool. And weird.

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"You think we could have Rachel over for Christmas dinner?" She knows her mother's aware of their relationship, because she hasn't tried to hide it. But they also haven't talked about it. At all. And maybe this is a mistake. Maybe her mom will drink too much wine and say something awful. Or maybe not.

"Frannie and Chris will be here." Quinn's about to interject, but Judy continues. "I suppose you should also invite her fathers. That's seven for dinner, which means I expect your help in the kitchen."

"So, that's a yes?"

Judy nods, then rises from the couch. "I need to get ready. I'm meeting with Meredith to discuss the holiday fashion show."

Quinn allows the mother/daughter moment to pass, because she knows it will just get awkward if either of them press it, too hard.

Rachel's ecstatic about the invitation, but that quickly dissolves into concern about proper understanding of holiday traditions.

"I expect you'll brief me on the order of events surrounding the story of the Nativity. I suppose I could Google it, beforehand. I'm definitely familiar with most of it, but I wouldn't want to make any missteps."

"Rach."

"Yeah?"

"It's a week away. And right now," Quinn reaches across the table and pokes the back of the menu in her girlfriend's hands, "you're supposed to be deciding what you want."

They're at Breadstix, because where else is there to go in Lima?

"Yes. Right. Sorry." Rachel's silent as she reviews the menu options, though Quinn's pretty sure she'll go with the vegetarian lasagna, as usual.

And that's when it hits her. Nothing slows down and there's no figurative ton of bricks that knocks into her. It's just a simple realization.

"I love you."

"Were you ready to order?" The waiter at the edge of the table goes entirely unnoticed.

Instead, the menu tilts until it hits the table and Quinn's no longer looking at the wine list on the back page. "What did you say?" But the smile that's spreading across Rachel's face kind of suggests she heard it clearly the first time.

"I asked if you were-"

Rachel doesn't even look at him. "Not you."

"I'll come back." And they're suddenly alone. Well, as alone as they can be in the most popular Italian place in Lima during the dinner rush.

"Great, now he's probably going to spit in our food."

"Don't you dare change the subject, Quinn."

"Were we talking?"

"You love me."

"Is that a problem?" It's bizarre, because all of her previous experience with this kind of declaration was centered around the validation of hearing it back. But this time, she's not worried. She knows how Rachel feels about her and she's fairly certain her girlfriend was well aware of her feelings before this conversation happened.

Rachel shakes her head. "No. Not at all." One hand reaches across the table to slip into Quinn's, while the other picks up the menu. After a moment, it tips back down.

"I love you, too."

Yeah, okay. The validation is totally awesome.


End file.
